


Doesn't This Have a Name

by MillieMay



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Post-Finale, Retitled, Was originally "Take Me Back"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillieMay/pseuds/MillieMay
Summary: Jessica has been avoiding Gil ever since he's gotten out of the hospital and he's finally had enough
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Doesn't This Have a Name

**Author's Note:**

> Original title was "take me back" but I wanted to have a more fitting title for the companion!! This one has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. For the longest time I couldn't work out an ending but finally, thanks to one of my favorite people in the world, I managed to loop together this whole thing. This fic was inspired by the song Take Me Back from Starkid's Black Friday. Absolutely would suggest listening to the song if you like this pairing bc it fits so well. Hope y'all enjoy!!

Jessica rubs her eyes tiredly as she goes over the legal documents for the hundredth time today. Ainsley’s plea of self defense was rock solid but she refuses to leave an ounce of chance behind that her little girl gets imprisoned because of that monster. The trial crawls by slowly, now on the third month since the incident. The justice system shows no interest in rushing for anyone, god knows, much less another Whitly that has stabbed a person.

God her family is so fucked.

Shuffling draws her attention as the doors to the dining room slide open. She doesn’t even look up from the papers, her tone a tired deadpan. “Malcolm now is not a good time.” She tries not to sound as exhausted as she actually is, just for his sake.

“Jess,” Her breath catches in her throat, head snapping up to see Gil standing in the doorway. God help her, he looks good for a man still recovering from a stab wound.

“How did you…”

“Malcolm gave me a spare key after you got your locks changed.” She huffs pushing herself to stand. “You look tired.” She narrows her eyes at him but still doesn’t answer. Truth be told she doesn’t even know what to say to him. He shifts back and forth, as if trying to make a decision. She quietly wills him not to push, not tonight when she just feels so tired. “Jess, you’ve been avoiding me since I got out of the hospital. Talk to me.”

“I have not.” She scoffs indignantly. Except she definitely has. Every time she’d see him in the hospital bed, guilt would eat her alive. Every time she watched as he struggled to sit up or twist in bed with agony marring his features, it tore at her heart. It wasn’t that she couldn’t deal with the guilt anymore; she’s more than used to a heavy heart. No, it was the fear that held her in its grip. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” She gathers the papers back into their proper folders shutting them. “In fact I was just heading to bed, so if you don’t mind.”

“Jess, I don’t blame you for what happened.” She swallows heavily, stopping all movement in their tracks. Her fingers find the end of the table clutching the edge until her knuckles turn white.

“Well maybe you should.” The words come out more defeated than she intends, her voice almost caving with the weight. She shuts her eyes trying desperately to stop the tears building. She hears him moving until he’s behind her; he rocks almost hesitantly. Her head bows with shame as she tries to gather herself once again. She’s played this scenario in her head every day since they’d learned he’d pull through. She’s practiced what she would say to break his heart all over again. But none of that prepared her for how much it would hurt.

The movement is all at once, a decision made that can’t be taken back. His hand grips her elbow, spinning her around to face him. Those eyes are what nearly break her. They’re so full of compassion and care that she does not deserve. Not after what she’d brought him into. None of this would have happened if she’d just kept up her boundaries.

“If I hadn’t been there that night-”

“I’d be dead.” He interrupts her without hesitation. “I was investigating Endicott regardless. Maybe that night I wouldn’t have been stabbed but he was coming after me next. He’d already taken care of Malcolm. He knew who was looking into him and he knew I was close.”

“If I had listened-”

“Then we wouldn’t have recorded evidence that could help in Ainsley’s case.” She huffs rolling her eyes, she absolutely hates it but he’s right. The recorded voice message, her attempt to call 9-1-1 after Gil was stabbed. Her phone became key evidence as soon as her purse was retrieved. It does not alleviate the pressure in her chest. “You are not the reason I got stabbed, Jess. You’re the reason I’m alive.” His hand comes up to cup her cheek and, god help her, she leans into his touch. He wipes away the stray tear that had escaped despite her attempts. “You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

She scoffs bitterly, a crooked smile gracing her lips. “I don’t know if you’re talking about now or 20 years ago anymore.”

“Jess.” He sighs. “Everything that you have done has been to protect Malcolm and Ainsley.”

“And look where that’s gotten us.” She tries to pull from him, and he lets go. It’s only for a moment but it’s a vicious reminder. He’s not Martin, he’s not Nicholas. He will let her go if that’s truly what she wants. She places her hands on his chest, slowly. It’s not the soft, expensive sweaters Martin wore or the pressed suit of Nicholas. The turtleneck is rough to her standards. Everything opposite of what she’s known her whole life. Her hands continue to trail down his chest until it lands on the spot that’s haunted her nightmares. 

“Jessica.” Her eyes flash back to him. “You are doing your best. Hell, I don’t know how you handle half the shit you do.” She opens her mouth to respond but he cuts her off. “And don’t joke about benzos from the 80s.” He cups her face again and she doesn’t pull away. His thumb strokes her cheek gently. “Do they slip sometimes? Yeah.” He laughs, likely recalling the no doubt numerous times Malcolm has thrown himself head first into danger. “But what he’s done, what Ainsley did? That wasn’t Martin. That was all you.”

“I thought this was supposed to make me feel better.”

“You gonna let me finish?” She sighs but nods. “You know what they had in common?” She shakes her head, almost imperceivable. “They were protecting their family.”

“I can’t lose them.” Her eyes fall to the spot beneath his sweater where her hands still rests ever so gently. “I can’t-”

“Nobody’s losing anyone on my watch.” His hand covers hers, holding it to the place where he’d gotten stabbed. “And I’m not going anywhere.” His lips press against her forehead and she closes her eyes letting his words wash over her. Any desire to argue with him vanishes, an overwhelming sense of vulnerability floods her. It was something she hadn’t felt in 20 years and truthfully it nearly takes her breath away. _ Oh. Oh god. _


End file.
